


Call It Waiting

by antimonyandthyme



Category: Block B, Show Me the Money (Korea TV), Winner (Band), iKON (Kpop)
Genre: M/M, smtm4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5683099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antimonyandthyme/pseuds/antimonyandthyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minho’s clenching his jaw so hard Jiho can see the vein straining in his neck. “You’ve been looking at me. During filming, sometimes.”</p><p>In which Bobby wants something, Jiho is confused, and Minho may be more than a little jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call It Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and the characters are not mine. 
> 
> Takes place after the producers’ performance in smtm4.

Bobby grabs him backstage and pushes him into a corner with startling force. 

“Jiho hyung,” he whispers. 

“What are you,” Jiho begins, and then stops. He swallows noisily, throat still strained from the performance. The look in Bobby’s eyes is dark and demanding. “There’re cameras—”

“Fuck that,” and then Bobby’s lips are on his, muffling his noise of protest. It’s brief at first, Bobby pulling back a little to gauge Jiho’s reaction. Unthinkingly, Jiho runs his tongue along his lip. 

This time, there’s no hesitation in the way Bobby presses against Jiho, sucking heavily on his bottom lip to draw out a surprised groan. On stage, the boy's unstoppable, all energy and charisma and Jiho can’t help but think that he kisses in very much the same way; enthusiastic and aggressive, if a little inexperienced. It’s pretty hot actually, and coupled with the adrenaline still left over from the show, it leaves him deliriously lightheaded. A part of Jiho stutters, confused, but going by the increase in texts between them and meet-ups and touches that lingered too long to be casual, he probably should have seen this coming; he just hadn’t expected it to happen _here_ , of all places.

The sound of voices nearby spooks him. Jiho’s hands flutter uselessly before they come to settle on Bobby’s shoulders, pushing away gently. “Bobby,” the rational part of him manages, “stop.”

“Ah,” Bobby murmurs. He stumbles back finally, jamming his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. Even in the dim light, Jiho can see his cheeks blooming with red. “Sorry—I. Sorry, hyung. I don’t know what came over me.” He’s back to his usual, slightly shy, slightly awkward self around Jiho, and the sudden dissonance stuns him momentarily. 

But he’d have to be blind not to notice the change in Bobby’s posture, now hunched and small, the way his fists are clenched even through the hoodie, and he realises he doesn’t like seeing Bobby so unsure—granted, it was a pretty stupid thing to do, but it wasn’t as if Jiho hadn’t enjoyed the kiss. Immensely. 

“It’s cool,” he smirks, ruffling Bobby’s hair. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.”

Bobby scoffs at that, but the tension drains away from his shoulders. “Keep telling yourself that hyung.”

“Hey, hey, what’s with that attitude?” Jiho mock complains, swatting at Bobby. “Insulting me after you kiss me? That’s not nice.”

Bobby shuffles his feet, and then after a moment’s hesitation, grabs his wrist, grip almost desperate. “You looked good,” he blurts out. “I mean. Just now, on stage. You looked good, doing something you’re good at.” 

It’s as awkward as confessions go, and that somehow makes it even more endearing. Past the burst of affection in his chest, Jiho grimaces inwardly; he’s not sure how far he’s willing to let this—whatever _this_ is—go, what with filming going on and— 

“Hyung!” It’s Minho. He jogs up to them, grinning wildly. “Hyung, what the fuck man, where’ve you been?”

“Uh,” Jiho says unintelligently. 

Minho stops, seemingly just noticing Bobby, his eyes falling to the hand on his wrist. He flicks his gaze back up to Jiho, who’s sweating and disheveled, and the smile slips from his face. 

Bobby lets his hand drop. 

“I’ll catch you later,” Minho says flatly—angrily almost, and he turns on his heel and strides away. 

“Uh,” Jiho says again.

 

Jiho cites filming as an excuse to leave. He can’t deal with Bobby after Minho’s unexpected reaction to seeing them; Jiho has an uncomfortable inclination as to where this is going and if he’s right, then, well. He needs to find Minho. Bobby brushes off his apologies, and if he sounds a little upset, Jiho chooses to ignore it, even though it sets a sickening weight in his gut. 

Jiho wanders backstage, asking around, and gets told that Minho took off not ten minutes ago. He sighs.

_hey, heard you left, wait up?_

_where are you now_

No answer. 

_minho_

_minho_

_aish you’re too much_

Pocketing his phone, Jiho allows himself to be dragged away by a PD wanting extra footage. When he’s finally done for the day, Jiho’s so tired and irritable that he considers putting the whole confronting Minho thing off entirely. 

_precious dongsaeng_

In the end, the lack of a response convinces him that no, it’s probably not a good idea to let Minho stew in his own juices for any longer than this. He shows up at the dorm. 

“You shouldn’t sulk.” 

Minho looks as if he’s seriously considering slamming the door in his face, but his politeness eventually wins out. He steps aside. Sullenly. 

Jiho toes off his shoes. “How long were you planning on ignoring me for?”

“A couple more hours, at least,” Minho mutters. 

“Nearly caved in with my last text, right?”

Minho rolls his eyes, but doesn’t disagree, and Jiho lets out an amused snort. He follows Minho to the kitchen, grabbing two beers from the fridge. 

“These are allowed in here?”

Minho shrugs, taking the proffered can. They drink in silence for a bit, before Jiho exhales impatiently. He’s never been one to beat around the bush. 

“So what was that about?”

Minho glares at him balefully from behind the rim of his can. “Don’t make me say it.”

“I can’t do anything if I don’t know what’s going on here.”

“You _do know_ ,” Minho bites out harshly, and Jiho frowns, stung. They’ve fought before, but Minho rarely ever uses that tone with him. 

“Hey, if I did something wrong, tell me.”

“No, it's not—sorry, just. Sorry, hyung.” He runs a frustrated hand through his cropped hair. “I’ll get over it, alright?”

“Minho,” he says, gentle, not liking how resigned Minho sounds. “Tell me.”

Minho’s clenching his jaw so hard Jiho can see the vein straining in his neck. “You’ve been looking at me. During filming, sometimes.”

Oh. Well he thought he had been a little more subtle than that. But it was hard, especially seeing each other on such a regular basis again, to hide his partiality. Time spent apart had only amplified the feeling, made him gravitate towards Minho, dote on him as he had always done. 

“I just thought it meant something, you know? But then, you and Bobby— _whatever_ , it was stupid. Like I said, I’ll get over it.”

“No,” Jiho says firmly. “Minho, tell me what you want.”

Minho stares at him, shoulders a tense line. And then—Jiho sees it, that same intention Minho carries when he works or writes lyrics or spits fire. He rests a hand on Jiho’s shoulder, thumb digging into his collarbone, and finds his mouth. Tentative at first, small licks at the seam of his lips, as if trying to determine how far Jiho will let him go. That’s _sweet_ , Jiho thinks fondly, that’s entirely Minho. A surge of warmth spreads from his chest, and Jiho folds his body closer.

In response, Minho cups his jaw with his other hand, movements surer now. He slips his tongue pass Jiho’s teeth to swipe against the roof of his mouth, tangle roughly with his own, and Jiho produces a strangled sound. 

“How did you get so good at this?” he demands, because these are things a hyung should know. Minho shuts him up by kissing him harder, dirtier. 

They’re both breathing hard when they pull away. Jiho’s head is reeling, but Minho meets his eyes steadily. 

“I want this.” 

Jiho hates how his knees go slightly weak at that statement; Minho’s resolve is a force to be reckoned with, and Jiho knows without a shadow of a doubt that he’ll get what he wants. And maybe it’s too early to think such things, but Jiho has a feeling that all Minho needs to do is ask. Could ask for nearly anything, and Jiho would say yes. It’s fucking terrifying.

(Though the same could probably be said of Minho.)

So he says instead, “You’ve got pretty bad timing,” and watches how Minho’s face falls. “Shouldn’t you focus on winning first, huh?”

Minho’s silent. 

“After filming. Let’s… see how this goes.” He massages Minho’s arm, absently enjoying the feel of the wiry muscle underneath. “I’d like that.”

Minho’s gaze snaps back to him, eyes wide and unbelieving. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“I’d… like that too.”

Jiho hums, pleased. 

“I’m not gonna lose to Bobby anyway,” Minho declares, and Jiho’s aware he’s referring to more than one thing.

“So you’re just using me for your little rivalry game? I should’ve known. I’m hurt, really I am.” 

“Whatever, hyung,” Minho laughs, eyes crinkling. He reaches for Jiho’s hand, and it’s shy, and sweet, the way he plays with Jiho’s fingers. 

Jiho hides a fond smile. Precious dongsaeng, indeed. 

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw [this](http://moonrok.com/news/full-interview-zico-talks-idol-world-vs-hip-hop-world-being-compared-gd-and-more) and went aw that’s so adorable look at both of them fighting for Zico’s attention and then saw [this](http://notorious-gonzo.tumblr.com/post/111938796563/alittlepessimistic-aseira) and laughed so hard and of course the next logical thought was obviously—wouldn’t it be nice to have fic with all three of them nah jokes but then _this_ somehow happened and I’m sorry I am please don’t take me seriously.
> 
> (Come join me in this black hole / crit is much appreciated!)


End file.
